If Only
by A Starr Is Reborn
Summary: Prince Andrew is in love with his sister. He knows this, and he's taking steps to come to terms with it. He might feel better about his sick affections if only he knew that she felt the same way for him. But alas, even knowing that would solve nothing - it would only help to intensify his body's reaction to her presence, the dreams that were making him restless for her touch... AU
1. Chapter 1

**I just made hot chocolate… it's too hot TTT_TTT Thank god "burn" is MY four letter word…**

**ALSO ONE LAST THING BEFORE THIS STARTS - no holds bar on this one, baby cakes'. I mean, this one will earn it's M rating very well.**

**I listened to All-American Rejects while typing this - brought back good memories ^^. And watched the Walking Dead marathon – FUCK YES ZOMBIES!**

* * *

Every part of this… this moment, this _horrible_ happening was wrong. _So wrong._

"_Ahhh!_"

_But that voice made it all worth it._

He let out a low groan of approval, hips jerking forward roughly, burying himself deeper into the blonde writhing beneath him. He cursed lowly, reveling in the louder moan that he received in response. She wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing – _in more ways than one_ – tightly as she gripped a fistful of rust-red hair and tugged sharply. He hissed in pain and leaned his head forward, devouring her lips in a bruising kiss as punishment. She moaned into his mouth, the sound forcing his own groan back into her mouth. She smiled into the kiss, pulling away just a bit to nip at his bottom lip just before a _particularly_ hard thrust hit that _one_ spot that made snowflakes burst from her fingertips, her breath puffing out in a cloud between their mouths.

He buried his face into her neck, biting and sucking at the flesh as hard as he dare (_it was already covered in his mark, tender to the touch_) as she threw her head back with a breathy moan, _gods above!_ She was _so_ tight. _He wouldn't, couldn't last much longer. _Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders, frost biting at the flesh immediately surrounding her fingers; not that he minded. The cold – _her_ cold – had never really bothered him all that much anyway. If anything, the cold only encouraged him to hold on, hold out for-

"_Andreeew!_" She'd pulled herself flush against his chest, groaning this praise directly into his ear, dragging her nails down his back all the while.

"_FUCK!_ Elsa-"

* * *

"'lsa!"He jolted awake with a low moan, reaching out before himself for something he wasn't sure he really wanted (or at least, he knew he _really_ shouldn't want it). _It was warm, wet._ Sticky. He blinked, groaning lowly and letting his hand drop back down to cover his face, rub at his temples. _He hadn't, had he?_ He propped himself up on one elbow, sighing softly and shaking his head at the stained sheets and obvious erection tenting the sheets. _Fuck. FUCK._ "Not _again_!" he whined to himself, sitting up fully and burying his head in his hands, praying that the flush would leave his cheeks soon.

_As if he weren't hot ENOUGH._

This was the third time this month _that_ had happened. It was growing closer and closer to Elsa's coronation and he'd had more chances to see her, catch glimpses of her face and… and for all his life, he'd been helplessly, hopelessly in love with his elder sister. _He was such a fucking SICKO. _Disgust made his stomach roil angrily, bile rising in his throat as tears burned at his eyes. _NO! He would NOT cry about this. _He wasn't some pussy, emotional little twerp on top of these idiotic feelings. He wasn't even sure _when_ they'd started, just that they were here to stay.

He could remember being a child and just loving playing in the snow with his sister, being so _close_ to her and then that _one_ little mishap with the magic. Yeah, he remembered. How could he _forget?_ He had for a while there, and then one day it'd been snowing – he thought he'd probably been about ten or so – and he'd been out in the gardens, building a snowman by himself. He'd knocked on Elsa's door but when she'd cracked the door open just an inch to eye him with those icy eyes of hers (_he'd shivered, and hadn't known why, then_) and told him she was busy, he'd ended up wandering out here. He'd mostly wandered here by accident, caught up in the realization that, _wow_, she'd actually opened the door. A snowflake had landed on his nose, and he'd smiled, crossed his eyes to look at it and something had _clicked._

"_Oh!_" He'd gasped, spinning on his heel and tilting his head up to stare up at Elsa's window, for it overlooked the gardens. He'd caught a flash of pale blonde hair before she was gone. It'd all made sense and he smiled and… and nothing had changed. How _could_ they? Their parents still kept them separated and no matter how many times he'd bring up Elsa and maybe them spending more time together, they would absolutely lose their marbles over the whole thing. But he'd been careful to learn as much as he could about Elsa after that, demanding information and silence from the staff on her schedule, on her health and happiness.

Right about the time of puberty occurring for him, when his shoulders suddenly widened and he suddenly shot up, towering over his father and mother and yet still managed to be lanky and clumsy and awkward, _it_ had happened. They'd been on the way to the marriage of Rapunzel and Flynn Rider. Their _cousins_, so Andrew had been told by his mother as she cupped his cheeks and tugged his head down, leaving a kiss on his forehead. He hadn't even _known_ they'd had an aunt. Though to be fair he'd never cared for his own family passed what they could tell him about _Elsa, _so of course he wouldn't have known he'd had more family despite his mother had probably mentioned them before.

He'd known even then that his obsession was wrong, but on the bright side it had taken a period of rest and cooling off, because their mother and father had died on the way to the wedding. A tragedy, to be certain, but one that he'd handled much better than he should have. He'd mourned at the funeral, not because he truly felt _sorry_ they were gone – that was the _farthest_ thought from his mind, in fact – but because he'd been more excited by the prospect of having his sister to himself_ FINALLY._ He'd mourned the loss of his morals, his mental health; _when, WHY had he turned into such a… such a creature as to lust after his own SISTER?!_

In the three years since that day he'd tried to contain himself. He'd made an effort to stop keeping track of Elsa's day-to-day schedule; he'd forced himself to stop flushing and getting worked up over the prospect of seeing or getting to interact with Elsa; he'd stopped knocking on her door all the time. She'd stopped answering as much a few years back anyway; it'd two months after the funeral he gave up knocking on her door in his search for companionship. His desperation for her, while impressive, was not _so_ large. He wouldn't make a total fool of himself, not in front of her, not if he could help it.

_So THIS, this little problem of his, was NOT okay._ He hated every night that he would crawl into his bed covered with _another_ new pair of sheets. He couldn't _imagine_ what the staff was thinking, saying about him in the deepest parts of the castle. He sighed, shaking those thoughts off and peeling the sheets from his body. Next he pulled himself out of his soiled underclothes and made the trek across the room into the adjourning bathing rooms. He tried not to think about the fact that his bed would be made, neat and orderly, by the time he returned to his room. He tried not to think about what would lead to his need for new sheets. But he was hard, throbbing anyway.

_Such a sick, fucking pervert he'd turned in to. _

And he hated himself for it. He didn't hate the fact that he _had_ these feelings and dreams, he couldn't _hate_ his dreams because – _gods help him_ – they were so undeniably necessary for him to come to terms with the fact that he was still in love with his sister after nearly a decade of trying to deny himself that. He hated himself for being unable to resist giving in to the urge to touch himself and gasp out his elder sister's name. He hated himself for thinking of her night after night and waking with the thought of her morning after morning. He hated that he would never stop any of it. But he couldn't hate that he loved her, because… because she deserved it.

Even if he didn't deserve her, _she_ deserved the love. And maybe, since she was becoming the Queen of Arendelle soon, maybe they would see more of each other and he could finally express his love and affection in a safer outlet than the heat of his morning bath or the tangle of cum-stained sheets. But that wouldn't be for another few days. And he was hurting for her now. So for now he'd just take care of his, _ah, _affections. Breakfast was soon, he needed to be prepared to see_ her._

* * *

"_Princess Elsa?_" The muffled call echoed through the wood of her bedroom door, immediately followed by three soft knocks. It was one of the servants. It's unnecessary for them to come knocking upon her door in the morn; she usually awoke with the sun and they all knew this. Still, they felt the need to check upon her.

"I'm here, Kai," she called back softly, hardly raising her voice. She was distracted, mind elsewhere. Down the hall, around a corner, and three doors down to be exact.

"_Will you be coming to breakfast?_" She glances to the window, trying to judge the time by the amount of light pouring in through the glass. It was later than she'd intended for it to be before untangling herself from her almost-warm sheets. She wouldn't have the time to soak in the tub beforehand. She sighed to herself, cursing her thoughts for stealing the time away from her.

"I will be down shortly," She hesitated for a few long seconds before she dared speak her next question. "Is, ah, is A-Andrew ready yet?"

"_Still in the bath,_" She breathed out a brief sigh of relief, knowing she'd have the time for a bath herself. Andrew was notorious for extended soaks.

"Excellent, I'll be down shortly after him," She was also notorious for her long soaks. But she liked to recline, repose, and recollect herself in the tub. It was a time for her to test her control over her power and see how long she could regulate her own body temperature before the water would accidentally freeze over. It amused her to no end, seeing her own breath puff out in little clouds of ice crystals whenever she'd lower herself into the water, as if her body protested the soothing heat. "You're dismissed."

"_Of course._" She heard the steps fade away and waited a few seconds even after they had before she pulled the pile of blankets from herself and stood from bed. She crossed to her bath, trying not to let her mind wander down a hall, around a corner and three doors away. Trying not to think about the fact that Andrew was naked, soaking in a tub right now. A flush crept up her cheeks and she cleared her throat, focusing her gaze on the mirror as she sheds her night clothes. What looks back at her is a grim frown and pink-tinted cheeks. There's a darkness in her icy eyes, a yearning. Soon, a sneer catches her eyes and she turns away from the unbelievably ugly look.

_Shame on you._

She runs the bath, searching through her oils for a preferred scent. Something light, sweet. Floral. She opens a vial, brings it to her nose and takes in the scent. Not too over-powering. Pleasant, subtle. Some part of her wonders what Andrew would think, have to say about the smell. Would he find that it suited her? Would he let his nose trail over her neck, let his tongue flick out to taste her skin before-

_Monster. How dare you!_

She huffs out an aggravated breath, shaking her head hard enough to make her temples throb. _Oh wait, that migraine had already been there._ She couldn't _help_ it, though! She'd had _VERY_ limited contact with other individuals, and it was _hardly_ her fault that the mix of their parents' genes had resulted in a rather fine specimen of human flesh. _That is to say, of course, that she found her younger brother to be intensely attractive. _Her baths had been growing longer and longer as she found herself indulging in dirtier and dirtier fantasies. Though she would often times manage to hold herself in check, reminding herself that they could never be – for various reasons that ranged from her inability to go a day without almost revealing her secret to the fact that they were siblings – and struggling with that ever-shrinking part of herself that felt disgusted by these thoughts… sometimes she couldn't stop images dancing behind her eyes.

_Andrew's bare, broad shoulders._ There would be a light dusting of freckles over the skin, she was sure, to match the ones that were sprinkled over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. _Andrew's long legs, arms, body._ He was so _tall_. He hadn't always been tall, and she would swear that puberty had overtaken him one night suddenly. She could remember towering over him for the majority of their youth and then one day when she'd stepped out of her room to head off to her lessons, he'd happened to be there. At least six feet tall and, _goodness_, there had been a shadow of stubble that crawled over his angular jaw (because he'd lost his baby fat as soon as he'd shot up) and she'd almost had a heart attack. He'd paused to stare at her, and then he'd smiled and her heart had throbbed and… She'd slammed the door shut and hid herself away for the remainder of that day, trying to get her heartbeat to slow down to a more manageable rate, trying to melt the frost from her walls.

She was lucky, today, in chasing off the images. They only danced in her mind for a moment before she obscured them with heavy thoughts of the coronation. Within the week she would be turning twenty one, and then she'd be taking the throne. Of course, after the passing of her parents Andrew had been offered to take the throne. He'd refused, on the basis that Elsa had been the one preparing for it, and he was much more content with that than with the thought of having to run a whole country. The council of advisors had almost convinced him, but he'd been especially adamant, almost losing his temper when they'd pushed him, speaking ill of Elsa's ability to rule simply because she was a woman.

The memory brought a warm flush to her cheeks, but this one wasn't so inspired by filthy thoughts. She didn't deserve him. Andy was so sweet, the sweetest person she'd ever have the delight being related to – besides her cousin, whom she really only knew through the handful of letters they'd been exchanging over the years – and he was so _good looking_ (where had _that_ unwelcome thought come from?) and kind and protective of her. She never forgot how lucky she was to have him; she cherished every second they shared, no matter how brief those seconds always seemed. They had to be. So she could control herself, so he wouldn't realize she was a _monster._ A freak of nature. Too good for the pureness of his soul.

_What kind of despicable creature craved for their younger sibling?_

And how could she possibly do well running a country when she was constantly absorbed in thoughts that revolved around said younger sibling? She groaned lowly as she sunk into the water up to her nose. She hadn't even remembered sinking herself into the scented depths, but now she had to try to fight off her chagrin and the frost it was trying to cool the bath with as she sank deeper still, completely dunking her head under the water. The heat of it was a shock to her naturally cooler body, allowing the thoughts to dissolve with the rush of heated water over her skin.

* * *

**OKAY, so because I REALLY don't need to be posting more shit, I'm just going to leave this one here for your pleasure and I'll either get really into it, or I'll just let it sit for a while and work out some details for other things. Like Blue Eyes or Grey Areas, or HEY, maybe I'll finish the Elsanna week posts before time runs out… BAHAHAHAH, yeah no that's not happening. **

**But here's this little intro into the lives of Andy and Elsa, now please rage about my lack of consistency ^w^**


	2. Chapter 2

**My favorite activity in public is to look around at people and try to figure out which ones are fucked up, and one which drug/substance. I discovered this only recently when I caught myself unintentionally doing so.**

* * *

Breakfast was an awkward, quiet affair. It almost always was. The staff was quiet, not really speaking unless spoken to – and this was not some sort of odd rule, this was just something the staff did (something Andy wished they wouldn't do, because just _anyone_ talking would be better than _no one_ talking) – and he and Elsa sat there staring at their plates. The loudest noise would be the scrape of his fork or knife over smooth porcelain. It was a shriek of sound, a wail in the quiet that made both of them flinch. He flushed, glancing up to see that Elsa was staring at him now.

"Sorry," he muttered, eyes falling back to his plate. _Why was this so awkward?_ It wasn't even that she was awkward – _she was, but he would never speak ill of Elsa_ – because she was _BEAUTIFUL_, he was the awkward one. If only he could just… just find something for them to talk about, some mutually shared interest that he could exploit. _So… how are you liking Arendelle this time of year?_ He almost groaned audibly, imperceptibly shaking his head to dispel those thoughts. Perhaps if he weren't so socially inept…! "… Any plans for the day?" Yeah, there. That worked. Solid introduction to a conversation, couldn't be answered with a simple yes or no, common ground. _Perfection._

"Just going through the last of the return letters sent by nobles confirming they will be attending the coronation-"

"Can I help?" _Was it hot in here or was he literally so embarrassed he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust?_ "Uhh, I mean, umm…" A flash of smile, just a little one. One of those ones that really only curled at one corner of her lips. Brief, but brighter than the sun. _Oooh yeah, it was definitely hot in here._ He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from her and casting his gaze through the windows on the far side of the room, over and to the left of Elsa's shoulder/head. _Fuck!_ He wasn't some prepubescent boy! He was eighteen years old, he could handle his hormones like a grown man, and he _would!_

…_Dear fucking hell, she'd just giggled._

"That would be fine, really helpful actually," His eyes couldn't have been forced away from her face. She was smiling, holding a dainty, snow-white hand to her lips to obscure the smile, but smiling all the same, and giggling. He returned the expression with his own dazed sort of grin, too in heaven to notice the tinge of pink that colored his elder sister's cheeks when he offered up that grin. _She wasn't beautiful. _She was so much more than that. She looked tired, worn out really, as if the stress of the coronation was beginning to catch up to her – but she was still so unbelievably gorgeous he found himself almost gasping for breath just looking upon her.

"You're really pretty." She flushed hotly, her eyes tearing away from his. And as if the veil between two worlds had been lifted, allowing him a brief look into the immediate past, his own cheeks lit up with color. His mouth flopped open in shock as he stuttered and stumbled over his words, searching for anything else – _fuck, he'd be willing to talk about his almost-daily masturbatory tendencies if it meant he could stop being so stupid for five seconds _– to say. "I-I-I, err, that is to say that- I mean, umm, we-well you're NOT actually pretty-" Her flush darkened, but her eyes were steely and her mouth a tight line of displeasure. "NONONO, I mean, you're actually WAAAAY more than pretty, bu-but that's not what, I mean, I didn't…" He finally let out the groan he'd been holding in, letting his molten face drop into his hands.

'_Please kill me. Anyone? Someone? Please, just fucking kill me.'_

Two almost unnaturally cold hands pulled at his fingers. He nearly catapulted himself out of his chair, kicking back from the woman he suspected would _never_ care to actually touch him. Her expression was first alarmed, then hurt as she pulled her hand back, cradling the appendage to her chest and looking down and off to the side. _Nononono, whyyyy did this happen to him? _Before he could stop and think, before he could question the urge he'd lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest.

'_What am I doing? What the literal fuck am I doing right now?!'_

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her tighter for a brief moment. He pulled back and she still was so shocked by the sudden affection that she couldn't speak, mouth hanging slightly open, cheeks burning. "I meant you no disrespect, I'm just… jumpy." He grinned sheepishly, unwinding his arms from around her so he could step back and rub at his neck, run a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit. Elsa didn't answer. He glanced at her, and she was still staring up at him, an expression of disbelief decorating her features. He internally cursed himself, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpet and muttering lowly, angrily to himself. "I, umm," He swallowed thickly, letting his eyes cut to hers for a second. "I should probably go."

"NO!" He flinched back from the sudden call, almost yelping aloud in surprise. It wasn't often – and by _wasn't often _he meant it had been literally _years_ since he'd heard this – that the almost-Queen yelled, so this certainly caught his attention. For a moment, he feared the skin might just melt from her cheeks. _He'd never known her face could get so red. _Even her ears were pink! _She was so adorable, did she even realize it?_ Probably not, she was way too humble, too shy to realize it. Couldn't tell that he was staring at her breasts, the way her hips swayed in the dress. He was imagining running his hands over the fabric – mostly over the body the fabric covered – sliding them down the back and grabbing her- "Y-you don't have to go…"

_Huh?_... Oh. OH! Right, of course. They had been speaking before he got caught up in thoughts of his lovely, lovely sister. And before that, the embarrassingly loud grumbling of his stomach reminded him, before that they'd been having breakfast. He laughed, entirely embarrassed, and then cleared his throat, bowing lowly and sweeping his hands in a grand gesture towards the table.

"After you, _my lady,_" He was laying it on thick, yes, and she probably just thought he was so stup-… She giggled. Again. And he'd be willing to bet that, now, _his_ ears were rather pink. There really MUST be something wrong with him, he was absolutely certain of it. No one – at least, no one _sane_ – acted and reacted like this to-to their… He schooled his features into an adequately believable smile. When he found himself back in his chair, stealing glances of her, she was relaxed. She hadn't noticed anything out of sorts with him and she seemed content. Even happy, if that little, teeny-tiny, baby of a smile she now wore was anything to go by. _Had he done that?_ The smile he'd fixed upon his face was much more natural as it stretched wide.

Okay, so maybe he could deal with the silence. Just so long as she continued to smile.

* * *

_But of course she wouldn't._ And, _fuck_, he could understand why. This, this activity they were taking part in… was possibly… the dullest thing in the whole of the world. He'd been so bored before he'd _literally_ watched paint dry, and that had proven to be of a more exciting nature than… than this _torture._ The fact of the matter was that this office was far too grand for one, never mind only _two_ occupants; the air was stuffy and stank of some sort of polish (for the desk, perhaps, the lacquered surface was much too shiny and felt oddly slick to the touch). Everything was free of dust, far too clean, far too neat and orderly for his liking. Plus, for how large the damned room was, it seemed that he was cursed to be forever in too-close a proximity to the object of his darkest, most dirty desires.

_So he'd agreed to help her with… this… cruelty of an activity, did that mean she had to sit so close by his side?_

Of course not. But here she was, here he was… here they were, together. The only sound being the soft rustle of pages being turned, moved. Her breaths. Soft sighs. The occasional clearing of a throat, errant cough. Every time she shifted, even minutely, his eyes would be drawn to her and he would find himself allowing those traitorous orbs to devour her figure. He would try not to, _oh!_ how he did try. It just proved, each and every time, to be a rather fruitless endeavor. And the letters, they were all so formal and alike that they were blurring together and he couldn't look at them anymore. They were in his lap, in his hands, and his eyes were roving the page, but he absorbed nothing, read nothing. He was too aware of her, of those breaths, softs sighs, restless shift of her arms, hands, legs. He was too close, she was too close and too clueless and he was a beast and he seriously needed to get the fuck out of here before-

"Andrew?" _She was touching him._ It was hot in here, on top of everything else wrong with this fucking space, it was too hot in here. He'd pushed the sleeves of his shirt up around his elbows earlier in some attempt to alleviate the stress it was putting on him, but he was still constantly swiping at beads of sweat that would collect on his brow every few minutes or so. So she was _touching_ him and it was such a shock to his system. She was so cool in comparison, it made him feel as though his skin were on fire, as if it would melt right off, as if he would spontaneously combust any second now. His heart was pumping a painfully hard rhythm, each pulse was a cry, a roar for her. _Elsa,_ it thumped, _Elsa, Elsa, Elsa, Elsa._ "Are you well?"

_NO!_ No he was NOT well, and if she could kindly remove her hand from his person that would be fantastic. But she was Elsa, and Elsa never did things that were logical – _in his mind, at least_ – so of course she put her OTHER hand on him, his face. Forehead, to be exact. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._ Her hand shifted, cupping his cheek and pulling him to face her. She was concerned, that much was certain by the decidedly downward curl of her lips, the furrow of her brows. _She was leaning closer, why was she leaning closer!? _He was going to remain calm about this, he wasn't going to look at her lips, he was NOT going to stare at her plump, delectable..._ Damnit._ He was staring at them. They were moving and she was speaking and all her could think about was those lips wrapped around his-

"INEEDTOGO!" He didn't wait for her to finish saying whatever he hadn't been listening to. He didn't wait to see if his abrupt departure would hurt her in some way – because undoubtedly it did, everything he did managed to hurt her eventually – he just leapt from his seat and hurried for the door. She called after him, he would swear that he even felt the breeze of her powers chasing after him, but he couldn't stay in there. _Okay, so he was completely and utterly incompetent when it came to dealing with his sister… or the erections she inspired just by existing within the same space as he. _

He tripped, just barely managed to catch himself on his hands. This part of the carpet he knew well, it was forever smudged with the evidence of his youth. A piece of chocolate cake he'd tried to sneak back to his room, up until he'd stumbled and it had tumbled from the plate. He'd almost been tempted to eat it from the floor. But he'd also been so angry he'd been tempted to cry. The latter he'd started to do before the former, and before he could even consider trying to run he'd been caught by Gerda. The scolding he'd gotten that night was one he would remember forever. They'd banned him from chocolate for a full month. A _MONTH._

He scowled down at the spot now, pushing himself into a sitting position, hunching forward to hold his head in his hands as he tried to set fire to the damned bit of rug with his eyes alone. _This wasn't fair. _This wasn't fair at all. This shouldn't be happening, there was NO reason why this should be happening. Why would the gods do this to him? What had he done to deserve this? _Why couldn't he just be NORMAL for once?_

He wasn't going to cry. He was NOT going to cry. He was a man, a prince, he was stronger than that, better than _this!_... _But he wasn't, he really wasn't._ He was a boy, a child, he was weaker than wet paper, worse than any demon or devil that he most likely housed within his body – for surely there could be no other reason than that for his perversions. It was unnatural, and therefore he could simply not accept them as his own…_ And now he was making excuses for himself._

"Wouldn't father be _proud_," He spat the word out. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Wouldn't mother be so damned _happy_." It left a burn in his chest, behind his eyes. He groaned and let his eyes drop into his palms, pushing and pushing against them until they throbbed and spots danced behind his closed lids. And then he pushed harder, until he could not. Until he'd reached the bones of his face. For all the strange amount of strength contained within his limbs – _sometimes he liked to think that was the power HE got, because surely it couldn't be that only one royal sibling was blessed, right?_ – he could not force his own facial structure to bend to his will. He could only wish he could, could only wish that even if he couldn't he'd still manage to injure his eyes to some extent. Perhaps, perhaps then he might go blind, and never have to gaze upon his sister's face.

_Not as though that'd help very much. _Her looks only helped her appear appealing, it was everything else about her that he'd fallen for in the first place, however. Her voice, her kindness, her impressive timidity. She could be so shy and quiet and unsure of herself, despite how well she wore that look about her, as if she were so strong and wise, so regal and perfect. She wasn't. But her imperfections were absolutely beautiful. If only he could be struck blind, deaf, dumb. If only he could turn back the hands of time and stop his mother and father from ever partaking in the activity of procreation. If only he could go back and somehow stop himself from loving her, falling _in_ love with her. If only he weren't such a freak, such a bastard, such a perverse _fuck._

If only he hadn't run. _Why had he run?_ Because he was a coward, too afraid to face his feelings. But how could he? How could he ever? The shame, the guilt was effective for once. The erection that had tried to grow, tried to show how much he enjoyed the thought of her lips around his cock – _'You sicko, you pervert, go drown yourself in the fjord!'_ – died with the influx of the emotions. It was rare, considering the guilt never seemed to bother him those past few mornings (four days into the month and three of them had been spent alleviating his carnal desires for her), but he would take what he could get. In fact, he would take a walk. He needed the air, needed to change out of this stuffy attire, needed to sit in the sun and not imagine what it would feel like surrounded by her chill.

He stood from the floor, brushing his pants off as he did so, blinking back the moisture he would never admit had been threatening to spill over. He sighed to himself, rubbing a hand through his hair as he turned and headed for his chambers. His hands found themselves stuffed into his pockets, eyes focused upon the carpet as he tried to recall every day he'd spent running over each spot. _Alone._ He supposed he could just do that again. Go spend another day around the castle. _Alone._ Due to his own inability to act like a regular, functioning part of society. _Again._

_If only his father could see him now…_

* * *

**Huh, ya know, I think I'll leave this here for now. I'm the sort of person that no matter what you say about me or think about me, the one who hurts me the most, the one that absolutely shatters my soul – that's me. So his guilt, no matter how minor it might seem, is me projecting my past upon him. His guilt runs deep, tears into his body and soul. Poor dear. OKAY, I've seriously got to run! Sorry for mistakes!**


End file.
